Title: Crowning Tristan
Author: Sedri
Rating: PG-13 / T
Summary: We've seen Tristan grow from a boy to a man, but how does that man become a king? A gapfiller between the end of the battle and the coronation. Movieverse, with elements from the book. Canon pairings. Discontinued; final chapters summarised.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stardust in any way. This is just for fun.

Chapter Fourteen

The next few days passed easily, with a familial cheer and comfort that, until now, no one had realised was missing. Their discussions became livelier, happier, often jumping off topic to tell funny stories or debate interesting points. Una's lessons continued, of course, with more fine details as they approached the city, but whether it was her own perception or a change in Tristan himself, she no longer felt like he was listening just to please her. He was often confused or overwhelmed, but genuinely interested.

Having summarised four thousand years of history in less than four days, the next logical step was geography, and with it came the names and politics of all the noblemen who governed various counties; Una's knowledge was somewhat out of date, of course, as men fell out of royal favour every day, but for the most part the same families remained in charge of the same areas, and that was more than enough to learn. The map bought in Hop was invaluable, and soon Tristan could tell the Debatable Hills from Cragland, name each of the Catavarian Isles, outline Berinhed's Forest and locate the tiny lake island of Garamond. To his surprise, he memorised all this very quickly – aided, Una thought, by his instinctive knowledge of direction. Her feelings about this particular family trait were only slightly tainted, and it was a delightful surprise to realise, one afternoon, that she'd been talking about her relatives for over an hour without a single pang of shame.

Sharing a glance with Yvaine, she smiled.

Dunstan was enraptured by the map, shaking his head in awe as he measured distances for the third time and repeated that it must be at least twice the size of England. Yvaine murmured some sort of confirmation, spending so much time wrapped up in the delight of her stone cat that Tristan, sitting right beside her, was feeling a little neglected.

Halfway through their sixth day of travel – a dark, grey day that kept threatening rain – the road began to grow steeper and rockier; they had reached the farthest foothills of Mount Huon. Una, starting to feel the pressure of time, moved on to sketching out plans for what she called their 'Presentation' – the critical moment when Tristan would be formally introduced to his people. "It's imperative, I'm afraid," she said, sympathetic to her son's reluctance. "Even if we could ignore all the old traditions surrounding a coronation, the people need to know exactly what's happening, Usually the surviving prince announces his victory from the Grand Platform. As Primus' body has been returned – by one of Septimus' men, I believe – everyone will simply be waiting for my last brother to arrive. We must use that moment to gain your public support."

Tristan shifted uncomfortably. "A speech?"

"Yes," Una said gently. "I'm sorry, Tristan, but you'll just have to get used to it – a king does this sort of thing all the time. I'll say as much as I can myself," she promised, squeezing his hand. "They'll want to know what happened to me, and I can spare you most of the explanation, but..." She hesitated, glancing at Dunstan, who was reading something he'd brought from England. "Well, first we have to decide what story we're going to tell them."

Dunstan looked up, puzzled, keeping a thumb between pages as he met her gaze. "You don't think they would believe the truth?"

"I don't think they would accept the truth," she said. "England isn't quite real to us– them. I know it's real," she said, apologising for her fumble, "and no one will deny that the wall exists, but we've avoided it for so long that the reality of a whole world on the other side is rather hard to swallow."

Dunstan's brow furrowed, absently reaching out to close a curtain as the rain began to smack loudly against their windows. "The men who helped to carry our wagon across didn't seem concerned."

"Stormhold soldiers are well trained to hide their feelings," Una replied, "and it's not so much that anyone denies the existence of your world, but more that... we just don't want to think about it." She lifted her hands, shrugging. "That's really the best explanation I can give. A world without magic... it's like choosing to live in a world without light. The mere mention can make people uncomfortable."

Tristan glanced at Yvaine, who had fallen asleep beside him (probably, he thought, because she had stayed up all night again trying to talk to her sisters). A world without light? It was hard to imagine, but as an abstract example, it managed to convey the feeling well enough. He nodded and said, "So you think we should pretend I grew up in Stormhold."

She gave Dunstan an uncomfortable glance. "It would imply that you know more about day-to-day life here, and that you care more for our country than a stranger from the other side would – especially if they think I was there to raise you. We could still excuse your lack of political knowledge; there are many, many backwater towns and scattered homesteads where a boy could grow up knowing almost nothing of the court, and that kinds of history would still earn more respect from the nobles than the truth – less than a month of knowing about our world won't inspire much confidence in your ability to rule."

Though it wasn't a solution he much liked, it did make sense. Tristan nodded. For a few minutes they discussed the finer points of this lie, including how to explain having to carry all their luggage 'back' through the gap ("We'll tell them we fled to England a few years ago after nearly being discovered," Una shrugged. "It's what I would have done, and will explain your friendships with the villagers") then returned to the speech itself. Mostly, it was a game of balancing what Una insisted must be said against what Tristan really could not say – it still had to be him, Dunstan insisted; Tristan's character couldn't possibly be hidden, not if he would be doing this for the rest of his life. And wouldn't people prefer to have a leader who showed mercy anyway?

"As long as he still appears strong," cautioned Una.

Tristan, who was beginning to feel somewhat like a cow being bartered at a market, glanced at Yvaine. "Shouldn't we wake her?" he asked. "I think this is important enough for her to know."

"Everything we've been saying for the last week has been important, Tristan," his mother replied with dry humour, "and this really will be your show. It's your image we have to promote, and generally the choice of wife makes no real diff..." she trailed off, eyes growing distant as something occurred to her. She tapped her lip, thinking about it, and said, "Actually, perhaps we... No," she shook her head. "No, maybe not."

"Mother?"

She looked up, cheeks a little red. "I just realised that the next queen of Stormhold will be a star," she explained, embarrassed. "I don't know how I could have missed the implications. The simple fact that a fallen star has chosen to stay down here to marry you may well win you more favour than any king since Galdon."

Tristan raised his brows, worried. "That means we'd have to tell everyone what she is. She could be in danger."

Una nodded solemnly, gaze dropped as she considered it. "It should be her choice."

It was not, however, very easy to pull Yvaine out from inside her warm, comfortable green cloak. She had no desire whatsoever to be pulled from the serenity of her dreams, and after being ignored, groaned at, jabbed, shoved aside and outright threatened, Tristan tried to pull her cloak away. When that failed, he tickled her.

Yvaine shot upright, shouting and slapping his hands away. Tristan drew them back in cheerful surrender, grinning, and Yvaine clamped protective arms around her middle, breathing hard. She glared and demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Waking you," he replied innocently.

Scowling, Yvaine returned the favour. She poked her sharp hands into his ribs and smacked his raised arms, snatching the book out of an amused Dunstan's hand to hit him harder as he chuckled, and muttered with every strike, "Don't you ever – unfair – not funny – you scared me – you moron..."

"Yvaine," protested Una, who was trying not to laugh aloud. "Yvaine, that's enough... Enough! There's something we have to talk about."

Slowing, and now awake enough to feel a little sorry for her cringing victim, Yvaine did so. She returned the book with an overly-polite, "Thank you."

Dunstan, still amused – Tristan wasn't actually hurt – took it with an equally serious, "You're welcome." Smiling, he added, "I'm glad I never had to wake you up."

"Hmm?"

"That's how Father used to wake me," explained Tristan, theatrically rubbing his shoulder. "When I was very little."

Una smiled brilliantly, a perfect image forming in her mind: Dunstan, tickling their young son as he shrieked and giggled and promised to get up. Then his father laughed, lifting and swinging him around in the air. It was almost as good as a memory. Almost.

"So what's important this time?" Yvaine asked, breaking her reverie. "The number of gems I have to wear in each earring?"

"Not quite," said Tristan quietly. "Mother thinks it might be best, politically, if we tell everyone that you're a star."

She stiffened. "No."

"But–"

"No. Those people in Hop were ready to kill me. So was your uncle. I'm only safe if it's a secret."

"Someone might guess, Yvaine," Una explained. "Rumours spread quickly, and everyone already knows a star has fallen. It won't take much work to make the connection, especially since that boy shouted it out in Hop. Better that you announce it now than be accused later."

She shook her head stubbornly and said, "Tristan and I already decided..." but she trailed off at the look on his face.

"I talked to the Captain about this," he confessed, "and he agrees with Mother. If at least the soldiers know, they can protect you."

Any earlier distaste for bodyguards was gone; Yvaine replied, "Fine! Then we'll order them not to tell anyone else."

"People aren't stupid, Yvaine," argued Una. "How will we explain why you, as a woman of no apparent importance, have more protection than myself or Tristan?"

"Then you can have even more just to hide it."

"You know that won't work."

The star scowled, cornered but refusing to give in. Appealing to Dunstan, who was quiet as usual, she asked, "Don't I have any say in this?"

He gave her a gentle, sympathetic look, one that reminded her exactly why she'd liked him so much from the beginning. "No one's deciding for you," he promised. "You have to agree before any decision is made. We just want to know that you'll be safe. We're worried about you."

Those soft words put a swift end to any anger that might have built up in the jostling carriage. Yvaine relaxed a little, pleased, while Una and Tristan shared an unhappy glance. "Yvaine," said Tristan, "do you really think you can keep from glowing for the rest of your life?"

She frowned, not having thought of that. "I can try," she said.

"Would you be happy?" asked Dunstan.

Raising her eyes, she met his gaze, and held it for a long moment. "...No."

She looked around, at all their faces, hating the small voice in her head that agreed with them.

"I'll think about it."

Yvaine agreed, eventually, but it was no meek submission. She scowled at any mention for several days, glaring at the poor, confused guards but never actually sending them away as she had been so prone to doing before. She struck up a friendship with some of them – a distant, formal friendship, of course, but more than Tristan had managed – and by the time they reached Fulkeston, two days later, there were three soldiers in particular that she liked enough to insist that they, and no one else, would be her protectors. The one time Captain Oltran sent another man to follow her, she halted the entire party – all of whom were rather cold and short tempered thanks to a pre-dawn start – to scold him. Oltran, of course, had no idea why this was suddenly so important to her, and fell back into the habit of bowing and calling her "Highness," which earned him another tongue-lashing.

Tristan, doing his best to keep up a princely appearance, had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

Yvaine's three guards were Sergeant Rollon, a shy soldier from Hop named Brevon, and young, eager, fawning Corvin, who took news of his assignment with such delight that children with chocolate would have been hard-pressed to match him for sheer gleeful energy.

Of the three, it was Corvin who happened to be on duty when the Prince and his lady decided to take an evening walk in Fulkeston. Lieutenant Eldon went with him, as Tristan's bodyguard, and the two walked in silence for some time, trailing their charges at a comfortable distance. Dusk was falling and the market was packing up for the night, so after wandering the streets for a while, the soldiers found themselves following Yvaine and Tristan beyond the city walls, out into the cold breeze and tall grasses of the western hill.

There were no people out there, and this particular slope was so broad and high that Corvin and Eldon fell further back, confidant that they would see potential danger long before the royals were threatened. Finally out of earshot, Corvin turned to the older man and eagerly asked, "What do you think?"

"Hmm?" asked Eldon indulgently. "What do I think about what?"

"Lady Yvaine!" exclaimed Corvin, forcing his voice to stay low. "Everyone's saying that she's really a fallen star! You met her first – you were there. You cut the prince's hand in Market Town–" Eldon winced "–and you introduced them to Captain Oltran! You've seen more of her than anyone, so you must know! Is it true? Tell me so I can tell the others."

"I had no idea my opinion was held such high regard," the lieutenant said dryly. "I don't know, lad. I've seen some strange things, yes, and I'm sure there's something different about her, but we can't go jumping to conclusions. Imagine what would happen if word got out, true or not."

Corvin, who had obviously stopped listening after "I don't know", was gazing towards the quiet couple who sat together in the grass. "You know what they say?" he asked dreamily. "They say that if you're kissed by a star, you'll never know sadness again."

Eldon snorted. "Might be true for you, lad, but I doubt you'll have the chance to find out. In any case–"

"Oh, look!"

Dusk had passed; they were in twilight now, and darkness was engulfing the slope on which the couple sat. Their figures were indistinct, but the soft white glow around Lady Yvaine was unmistakeable. It was clean and sparkling, seeping, it seemed, from her very skin. The soldiers glanced at each other, awed, and even Eldon, much older and wiser, felt like a small child as he watched a fairytale come to life.

Oblivious to the stares, Yvaine was lying on her back in the grass beside Tristan, whose odd silence was starting to bother her. He'd been cheerful throughout their walk, but it seemed almost forced, and now, as they watched the setting sun leave streaks of light on the sky above them, he was solemn and restless, almost constantly flexing his hands or tugging his sleeve or fiddling with a blade of grass. "What is it?" she finally asked.

Tristan sighed, sitting up and gesturing to the jagged peaks before them. Against the dark sky, their faces lit by the last rays of sunlight, one stood out more clearly than ever; artificially straight and angled, with tiny lights appearing across it, Mount Huon stared down at them, stern and hard. "We'll be there in two days."

"Mmm," said Yvaine, pleased by the prospect and not quite seeing his point. "No more riding in a shaky carriage. I can't wait."

"I can. I'm not ready for this, Yvaine," he said. "I miss Wall. A few weeks ago I knew nothing about this place, and the day after tomorrow they'll put a crown on my head and expect me to lead them. It's too soon."

Yvaine frowned, tilting her head as she looked at him. "Er... Tristan? You do know you're not going to be crowned the moment we arrive, right?"

He blinked. "I'm not?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "No. All kings of Stormhold are crowned on the summer solstice – there's some silly belief that starting to rule on the longest day of the year will make them better leaders; something about the sun giving masculine power and glory. It's more than two months away. You've got time."

Letting out a long, utterly relieved sigh, Tristan flopped onto his back, chuckling softly as the tension drained from him. "Two months," he repeated. "Two months. I can learn a lot in two months."

"Of course you can," said Yvaine, and she poked his most ticklish rib, making him jump. "So will you stop worrying now? Una wouldn't let you do this if you weren't ready. Besides, isn't there some rule that says you can abdicate if you want to?"

"There is," Tristan nodded, protecting his ribs with both arms. "We haven't talked about it much, but there is. If I really can't do it, I can give power to Mother until another heir comes of age. But that law was written for princes who hadn't been crowned yet, so I thought–"

"You thought you had to make a final decision now." Yvaine shook her head, smacking his arm. "Moron."

Tristan chuckled, looking red and sheepish. "I guess I am."

Yvaine laughed at him, shining in the twilight. "I can't believe Una didn't tell you about that."

He shrugged. "I guess she forgot. We've been hurrying through so many lessons lately that even I can't remember what she has and hasn't told me."

There was a moment's pause, then, as Tristan tilted his head and bit his lip, thinking. Then he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. "Does the day actually make a difference?" he asked. "The solstice, I mean; the sun – does it have any magical power?"

"Well, he is my father."

Tristan blinked. "Oh."

"Which doesn't mean much," she went on, shrugging. "He's even less concerned with Earth than my mother, and we never talk to him. He probably doesn't even know that I'm down here, and won't care one way or another when you're crowned. It won't have any effect."

"Oh," said Tristan, reeling. "Well... I guess that's comforting." He shook his head, sitting up and looking back at the peaks, softened now as they melted into darkness. He felt a little better.

There was silence for a while, as Tristan watched the last glimmers of colour leave the sky and Yvaine gazed up at the stars. She smiled a little, watching them, wondering if any still cared to look for her, and fiddled with the silver ring on her finger. "...Tristan?" she asked. "When are we getting married?"

He blinked, twisting around to look at her. "I... hadn't thought about it," he confessed. "Why? Is something wrong?"

She shook her head, smiling and squeezing his hand. "No," she said, "not really. It just occurred to me that most princes don't get married until after they're crowned, so Una will probably make us wait until then, too."

Tristan frowned, then, feeling a bit silly, lifted one hand and kissed her fingers. "Do you think we can talk her out of it?"

Laughing, Yvaine sat up, pulling him with her, and clasped her hands behind his neck. "I hope so," she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I'm getting tired of waiting."

"Oh?" said Tristan lightly, grinning as he pulled her closer. "And what, exactly, are you tired of waiting for?"

"You," she replied, and lightly brushed the back of his neck with her fingertips. He shivered. "You," she added dryly, "and five minutes without your parents watching every move we make."

His eyes were closed now, and he smiled, tightening the hug until he could rest his chin in the curve of Yvaine's neck. Her bright hair fell onto his face, and the light shone through his eyelids. "They're not that bad."

She kissed his forehead, then his nose. "Yes they are. We've barely had any time alone together."

Tristan didn't bother to answer in words; he leaned down and kissed her. A proper kiss this time, not like those brief moments they sometimes stole before leaving the carriage or in a corner of an inn – a real kiss, and a lovely one.

(Corvin, watching, felt rather ill.)

Few places could be considered more romantic than this sort of quiet, natural setting. It was like a garden; the breeze was soft and cool, the light a gentle white, the grass soft and dry, and the town just far enough away that darkness enveloped the couple, making them feel alone and special, the only two people in the world.

In such a place, one could easily forget that the stars were hardly silent.

"Get away!" cried a small voice, and Yvaine jumped back from her fiancé as if burnt.

"Celeste?"

"Tell him to go away!" shrieked the little star. "It's all his fault!"

Yvaine closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Celeste, what are you doing? You can't just watch us like that."

"You always did," she pouted, and Yvaine stiffened, embarrassed. Tristan, feeling his face flush a deep red, looked up at the thousands of white lights that domed the sky – any, if not all of them, could have seen that kiss.

"Celeste," her sister said tightly, "don't do that again."

There was no reply, but Tristan had the distinct impression of a little girl stamping her foot in stubborn refusal. Yvaine sighed. "What is all his fault?" she asked.

"Everything! You're supposed to come back! Mama said you'd be here by now!"

"Mama's wrong. Are we going to keep having the same argument every time one of you talks to me?"

"Not if you come home."

"I'm – not – coming – home," she said, slowing to over-pronounce every word. "If I can tell you stories from here I will, but that's all, Celeste."

There was a pause then, one long enough for Tristan to notice that the soldiers were carefully coming closer, holding some sort of glowing sphere as they watched warily, unsure of what had happened. They suddenly looked up, along with Tristan, hearing a loud, heavenly sniffle.

"Oh, don't cry," implored Yvaine. She lifted her arms for a moment, reaching out to embrace the girl who was, of course, much too far away. Her arms dropped. "I miss you too. But you haven't lost me; I'm right here. I'm not leaving. I'm not going to die. I just can't touch you."

"But I wanna see you! Can't I come down–?"

"No!" cried Yvaine. Then, catching herself, she forced herself to at least sound calm. "No. I'm old enough to make this choice for myself, but I won't let you do it. You're not ready, Celeste, you don't understand."

"So tell me!"

"No. You stay there. Promise me, Celeste. Promise."

Silence. Absently, Tristan noticed how dark it really was. Yvaine's glow was faint, almost gone, and the reddish sphere Eldon held was too far to show more than faint outlines. The moon was a thin crescent.

Yvaine waited, staring steadily in one direction, picking out her little sister from the crowd of stars. Finally, Celeste responded:

"M'kay."

Yvaine's face relaxed into a smile. "Thanks."

"Nomi says we have to go now."

"Then go, before Mother throws a fit. I love you, Celeste."

"Love you, 'vaine."

Her sister kept watch a minute longer. Then, somehow sensing the change, she turned back to Tristan and shrugged. "Sorry."

He laughed. "It's all right. I should've remembered." Sighing, he said, "I suppose we should go back."

"I don't want to," she replied childishly, but didn't bother to argue. Standing, she brushed the grass from her dress. Tristan leaned over to pick up his sword, and suddenly, Yvaine laughed.

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Your clothes," she explained, chuckling. "They're all green."

Tristan paused, then pulled off his usually-white coat to find that the back, all the way up to the shoulders, was covered in grass stains. He groaned. "Mother is going to kill me." When Yvaine laughed with a complete lack of sympathy, he added, "You'll have it too, you know."

"I'm wearing green already," she retorted, beginning to walk back towards the soldiers. "Besides, Una's been saying I should wear the blue one for our arrival; apparently it's more suitable."

"Blue is the royal colour," he conceded, walking with her and lifting his coat to examine the stains in Yvaine's starlight.

Noticing this, she made an effort to dim herself and said, "I'm not a lamp."

Grinning, Tristan leaned down to kiss her ear. "Close enough."

She smacked him.

Corvin and Eldon waited awkwardly ahead, neither sure if they should say anything about Yvaine's confirmed starry status, or her recent conversation with the sky. Approaching, neither the prince nor his lady said anything beyond a polite greeting and an apology for keeping them out in the cold, so the soldiers merely shrugged and fell into step, trying to do their jobs without being distracted by starlight – or conversation.

"How old is Celeste?" Prince Tristan was asking.

"A few centuries," said Yvaine. "Six hundred, I think. I don't remember; numbers aren't really important to us. Mother keeps watch on us until we're at least one thousand, but it's different for everyone. She's very young, anyway."

Tristan shook his head, incredulous. "Your baby sister is six hundred years old," he mused. "I just turned eighteen. This is strange."

She shrugged. "Humans are different. You aren't meant to live as long, so you mature faster. We need decades just to learn how to talk."

"Meant," he repeated with a little grin. "My family doesn't seem to care much about what we're meant to do."

Yvaine laughed. "I guess we don't, do we?"

Their conversation went on as they walked back into town, flitting from subject to subject and never lingering on anything very important. At last they reached their current inn, The Dragon's Keep, where Una was waiting impatiently.

"There you are!" she cried, striding across the room. "Where have you been? We have a lot to do, and–" She suddenly groaned. "Oh Tristan, your coat..."

Tristan bit back a smile. This was what he'd always imagined having a mother would be like. He kept smiling even as she dragged him away.